


The Spring's First Flower

by cottonscent



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Character Development, Charlie got expelled, Dead Poets Society - Freeform, Fight me on that, First Kiss, Fuck Mr Perry, Honestly I have no idea how to tag this one, M/M, Neil Perry (Dead Poets Society) Lives, Neil decides to carpe the diem, Neil leaves Welton, Poetry, Short One Shot, The Dead Poets knowTM, Todd and Neil are in love, Todd writes poems about Neil, Welton Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonscent/pseuds/cottonscent
Summary: Neil has one night left at the Welton Academy, but his presence remains long after he left. Todd tries to manage on his own. The more time he spends writing about the feelings he have for Neil, the more apparent it becomes that the only word there is to describe it is 'love'.
Relationships: Todd Anderson/Neil Perry
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	The Spring's First Flower

**Author's Note:**

> (I can't tell if I'm proud of this one or if it's the most pretentious crap I've ever written, but I'm trying to unlearn that trying is cringy and living with a 'whatever I don't care'- attitude is no fun. Anyway, thanks for reading.)

”I’m in a great deal of trouble, Todd.” Neil sighed and slumped back on top of his bed. It was getting late and it had been a long day. His hands rested on his stomach, his eyes didn’t seem to look at anything in particular. Open, but absent. Neil spoke without minding Todd observing him from the other side of the dorm, ”I might have to leave Welton. And believe me, I don’t think much of this place, but it is my home more than any other place on this Earth. It’s most certainly nicer to stay here, where I can participate in club meetings and attend Mr Keatings classes, than to attend some military school. They don’t get to read much poetry in the army, do you think?”

Todd lowered his book. All around him notes and assignments littered his side of the room. Knowing that he wasn’t yet finished with the work due tomorrow nagged in the back of his mind, but what was it all worth anyway if Neil was leaving school? Todd couldn’t even imagine himself sharing the dorm with anybody else, and the thought of going to classes without Neil made the idea of even waking up in the morning seem vain — not to even mention how his absence would echo through the cave every Society Meeting. Todd put the book to the side and made himself comfortable, pillow behind his back, head resting against the wall.

”You really don’t think there’s anything you can do that will convince your father to let you stay?” he asked bleakly.

”No. If there was, I would already have done it,” Neil replied.

”But you said that you just _might_ have to leave. It’s not decided yet, is it?”

Neil pushed himself up and positioned himself that he sat at the edge of the bed. His head hung low. Seeing him dejected like this made Todd feel worthless. He had no clue how to cheer Neil up. He didn’t even know where to start. Neil always knew what to say, or sometimes he just gave you the right look, a lopsided smile, a wink, and suddenly you felt better at once. Charlie could lighten up the mood too, of course, but he lacked the subtile finess that Neil possessed. Charlie acknowledged no difference between the different types of woe, he treated them all the same, used the same recipe to cure them — a good laugh. Charlie was a comedian. Neil was a genius. Meanwhile, Todd was worthless.

He mimicked Neil’s position. He seated himself at the edge of his own bed, hands nervously twisting on his lap. Todd searched for the words to say, something beautiful, maybe a quote from a poem or a play that Neil would like to hear, but the more the searched for the right words, the farther away from him they appeared to flee. It was embarrassing, but that was the least of Todd’s problems. He was desperate. He wanted to say something, something imposing that could change everything, or at least something that Neil would remember if they never saw each other again — but instead he choked on the words he didn’t even try to pronounce. Furiously, he wiped away his tears.

”Todd…?” Neil lifted his gaze. ”It’s okay. Don’t —”

”NO.” Todd stood up abruptly, making loose sheets of paper flutter off the bed. They sailed through the air and landed on the floor between the two beds. Todd’s face was heating. In fact, his whole body was. And not only heating, it was burning, and in his veins the blood was boiling. He put a finger in the air to silence Neil. ”N-no! You shouldn’t be the one to say —” He flicked with his hand in the air, as if he had just injured himself. So much energy was simmering inside, he could just as well had jumped up and down or kicked something. He looked up to stop his eyes from flooding and took a deep breath.

”Todd, it’s really —” Neil started. Again, his eyes were pools of concern.

”SHUT UP!” Todd snapped. Neil winced back, first looking startled, but then his face slowly softened and he cracked up in a grin. Todd threw a quick glance to his right, towards the door. It was late already and the hallway on the other side was quiet, aside from some hushed voices. If anybody heard him and rushed in to find him crying, he’d probably die on the spot from mere shame. He turned back to Neil. ”You… You have to be quiet. Let me finish, alright? Just listen.”

”I’ll listen,” Neil said solemnly, still smiling.

Once again it dawned on Todd that he wasn’t even sure what to say, but he was sure that he needed to say something. He didn’t need to because someone told him to, because he needed it in order to get a good grade, or because it was a part of an assignment that he couldn’t yield out of. No, he needed to say something because he would never forgive himself if he didn’t. He took a deep breath and started over,

”You’re the one who’s hurt, Neil!” he began, pointing at Neil with a shaky finger. ”And I am… I am your friend! Not your younger brother! So I’m here to, to —” Todd couldn’t think of a word. Not a single one. His brain was all empty, but his body was exploding. After struggling for a moment, he bursted, ”I’m going to make you feel better, Neil! That’s what! I promise that I will! I’ll figure something out! You don’t have to take care of me all the time! Now it’s my turn to help you! If it’s so is the last thing I’ll ever do, I’ll make you feel better!”

There was no way nobody had heard him yell. It was only a matter of time before someone, hopefully not the monitor, would pop their head into their room and wonder what the fuss was all about. Well, Todd could tell them that, but they’d never accept it for an answer. The fuss was about living or dying, about how to sustain a flourishing soul in a world so rotten, and how to keep your heart beating for something of worth even when your body is trapped in place that seems to make worth itself perish. Besides, Todd wasn’t sure if he’d be brave enough to tell them. His internal poetry wasn’t of the sort that could change people’s outlook on things. The monitor would most certainly just tell him to cut it out and go to bed.

”You already have, you know?” Neil said.

He sat on the bed with the same baffled grin on his face as when Todd demanded him to shut up. He looked up at Todd, who awkwardly sat down on his bed again and felt the violent energy in his chest slowly wane. It left him feeling like a deflated balloon. When Neil looked at him he always felt like his bones softened and his muscles turned to mush. It was only when Neil was really focused and had his eyes looking straight ahead that it was palpable how his eyes were slightly out of synch. His right eye tended to drag closer to his nose whereas his left eye was right in the center. Somehow it always made Todd struggle with his words when Neil looked at him like that, with his full attention. At once, Todd forgot why he had even spoken to begin with.

”And I never thought of you as my younger brother, you know?” Neil continued, laughing. ”Never. Not even once. It’s ridiculous that you even thought that.”

”That’s… That’s beside the point, Neil. You don’t have to con… console me. It’s my turn.”

”There isn’t much you can do. I have a couple of days left here at best.” The corners of Neil’s mouth dropped. He only looked pained for a moment, then he pulled his face up again. He had that friendly expression, the one he was best known for. Smiling, but only politely. There wasn’t anything joyful about it. Thinking about it, very few people had ever seen Neil any other way.

”You can be sad if you want to…” Todd squeaked.

”Did I look sad?” Neil asked. He chuckled and brought his fingertips to his face. He dwelled for a second before lifting his feet off the floor, positioning himself on the bed for sleep in one smooth movement. He reached for the lamp and said with a bittersweet sonnet in his voice, ”I guess the acting has made my face more expressive.”

The room turned dark. Neil hadn’t even changed into his pajamas yet, and all around them homework laid unfinished and abandoned. Neil was a top student, he always handed his papers in on time. Meeks even offered to write his papers _for_ him, if that would take some weight off his shoulder until they had figured something out. Neil had politely rejected the offer. If this did not mark the end, what would?

”I know you’re sad. Don’t….” Todd wet his lips and looked down on his lap. ”Don’t try to hold it back. Let’s talk about it instead. Like Mr Keating says, you know, about letting human emotions be raw. We’ll figure something out. Let…” Todd swept his hair out of his face. ”Let’s just… I don’t know… Turn your anger and sadness into creativity, or something, and then… turn that creativity into ideas, and then the ideas into solutions. You know what I mean? You can’t just give up now, Neil!” He put his hands together. ” _Please_ ,” he begged.

Todd remained sitting. Without the yellow light from the lamp, the dorm seemed much colder. Snow fell from the sky outside. He didn’t even notice before since the only thing to be seen in the window glass was the reflection of the dorm. Now the barren landscape and the dark sky made him feel very small. With curtains pulled shut, or with a reflections blocking the outdoor view, it was easy to forget that anything outside even existed. Sometimes, usually just before going to bed, the entire world seemed to consist of nothing but Todd himself, Neil, and the dorm they shared. Just a stupid illusion, of course, but still a halcyon in a sophisticated war zone. The existence of the outside world was like a brazen insult every morning when the hallway once more got flooded with boys, teachers and the threat of responsibility. Todd didn’t want to fall asleep. Sleep snatched so much time away, and if time was slipping away already, why could he assist its escape?

Todd was shivering and twisting his hands again. He didn’t want this moment to be over, not yet. Let it be an ugly, awkward, useless moment — but for anything in the world, let it last for another couple of minutes, he thought. The thought wasn’t put into words, but he felt it.

”Never mind, Todd. This is useless,” Neil sighed. He made himself comfortable on the pillow. ”Let’s just get some sleep. Sobbing and pondering won’t fix it, I’m afraid. Thank you for caring, though. I appreciate that. You should write a poem about what you just said. I personally think you’re the best poet in the club. Maybe even the best poet at this school. I’m sure Mr Keating would love to hear more of you, and you’d make a great leader for the Dead Poets Society if you’d just build up the courage to take the task on. I think you could get your stuff published one day if you’d like to. I’d read it, that’s for sure.”

That was a goodbye. Todd clenched his jaws and started blinking.

”There _must_ be a way,” he insisted.

Neil didn’t reply. The silence was gut wrenching. The white sheen coming from the moon and snow made a tear on Neil’s cheek glister. Todd put his elbows on his knees and covered his face. His palms became pools of tears. They slowly spilled over and the drops started trickling down his wrists and arms.

”How long do you have?” Todd whispered.

”Who knows?” Neil replied like a faint breath.

”But…”

Todd hit the bed with a fist. He didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore, only that there was a lot of it, more than he could contain. He stood up from the bed and walked with small steps over to Neil’s side of the room. His first thought was to sit down on Neil’s bed, but instead he fell to his knees on the floor. With his arms crossed on Neil’s mattress, he wept wordlessly.

Neil lifted his head off the pillow and pushed himself up on his elbow. He stretched an arm out and stroke Todd’s hair. The feeling of fingers touching his head startled Todd at first, until he realized that it was just Neil. Again, Neil was the consoling one,but he smiled as he caressed the shortcut hair with his fingers as if it truly made him happy. Tears rolled down his face, but he seemed so happy he was on the brink of laughing.

”If this is the end, there’s something I’d like you to know,” he started. He let his fingers run follow the shape of Todd’s head until the found his chin. He lifted Todd’s face from the mattress to look at him. Todd thought his heart would burst. Neil chuckled softly before his face contracted into a sob.”Can you keep a secret?” he pleaded.

”This —” Todd rose from the floor and crawled onto the bed. ”This is not the end, Neil. We’ll stay in touch even if you enroll in some stupid military program. We’ll reunite when we’re all adults and we don’t have to care about what out parents say anymore. Your father is not God, he can’t stop us. We’ll keep reciting poetry and searching for new ways to look at things. Promise me that we will!” The words poured out of him without hesitation. Todd grabbed onto Neil’s hand, the one that just a moment ago stroke his hair.

”I doubt that you’ll want to see me even tomorrow,” Neil said.

The whole world seemed to be caving in on itself, everything that mattered crumbled into non-matters. There was no yesterday and there was no tomorrow. The room was spinning. With teary eyes, everything blended into a swirl pool of shadows, light and color. The only solid thing in the room was the feeling of skin against skin. Todd held onto Neil’s hand for dear life. Neil’s grip hardened too. His fingers wrapped around Todd’s, definite and secure like an anchor. It almost hurt, but Todd feared he was going crazy. It was the same daunting feeling as when he was forced to speak in class, that feeling that reminded one of what it’d feel like to be all alone in an open sea with crashing waves, or lost in a deep forest that was fiercely ablaze.

And then everything became still.

Neil’s lips were soft and warm. If the taste of salt came from Todd’s own tears or Neil’s was impossible to know. Todd’s grip around Neil’s hand loosened up, and Neil slipped that hand to the nape of Todd’s neck. He held the thumb gently against Todd’s cheek. It was messy at the same time as it was more in order than anything else in the world. This was exactly were they were supposed to be, exactly was they were supposed to be doing. Not because anybody thought it was appropriate, but Todd realized in that moment what it actually meant to want something. Truly. From the bottom of his heart.

***

”So, Mr Anderson. _’_ I keep thinking that you can do better than this,” Mr Nolan said. His face was disappointed and amused at once, his hands clasped on the desk.

On the blackboard behind him he had written key words and graphs, things he encouraged his students to keep in mind when they graded each other’s poems. Criticizing someone’s work was apparently a good way to improve your own as it made you conscious of flaws you wouldn’t be able to spot in your own writing. Todd couldn’t argue with the logic of that statement, but to have the rest of the class, not just hear, but analyze and express their opinions on his ridiculous poem made him wish he could just sink through the floor.

Todd could feel their eyes on him, but his classmates remained quiet. If that was a token of their approval or horror, Todd had no idea. Nobody cheered any ’well done’s but nobody offered any critique either. Maybe they were afraid of saying the wrong thing so that Mr Nolan would assume they were stupid. If Mr Nolan didn’t like the poem, then disliking the poem was the correct opinion. Todd stared at the paper in front of him, refusing to look up. The letters danced before his eyes, the words rang in his ears.

Since that day when he saluted Mr Keating, Mr Nolan had been harsher on him. Perhaps that was the moment when he, and everyone else, realized that Todd had more inside of him than he seemed to have. So shy and awkward, who would have thought anything else? Sometimes Todd regretted what he did, especially during those nights when he went to sleep knowing that tomorrow would be rough on him because of it. It was easier to be invisible, but there was no going back now. Mr Keating got the blame for Neil’s rebellion, and the other parents whose sons were enrolled at the academy took it very seriously. ’What if our son’s next?’. And since Todd admitted to be a part of the Dead Poets Society, that meant that he was a devoted part of Mr Keating’s scheme against tradition and order. A revolutionist.

Mr Nolan didn’t punish Todd by spanking, like he punished Charlie for the phone incident, and Meeks said that it had to be a conscious decision the headmaster made simply because he _knew_ that Todd would have preferred getting hit rather than getting exposed in front of the other boys. One didn’t have to be the smartest student in class to understand that.

”Mr Anderson?” Nolan repeated.

Mr Nolan sat on Mr Keatings chair as though it had been his this whole time. The academy had erased every trace of the old English teacher, but his memory was so vivid that it was hard to believe that Mr Keating wasn’t in the building. His presence filled the hallways, the classrooms and the dorms. Few dared speaking his name, fearing that it’d get them into trouble, but his cheeky smile and words of wisdom filled the boys’ brains no less. The only reason why the Welton Academy had not yet hired a new English teacher was likely because Mr Nolan knew that no ordinary man could fill the void left behind Mr Keating — no one put Mr Nolan himself, he seemed to believe.

Every class he stood in front of the boys, scratching with his calk on the blackboard, speaking empty words with his booming voice. The boys always sat quiet. Mr Nolan was content about that. Maybe he thought that their silence meant that they were listening closely. Some of them surely were, and Todd too tried his best to follow the lectures. He was more hardworking than he ever were when Mr Keating and Neil were around, but only because when his favorite teacher and his dearest friend were with him, everything was much easier. It took so little to roll out of bed in the morning when Neil poked at him and hissed: ”It’s time for Keating’s class, Todd! Better hurry, we don’t want to miss it!” Classes were a constant uphill now.

Todd didn’t know where to put his hands. First he clasped them together on his lap, then he put them into his pockets. When Mr Nolan raised a disliking eyebrow, Todd put his hands on top of the desk instead. Hands in pockets were not appreciated, especially not when speaking to the headmaster. The fabric of his shirt stuck to Todd’s back. Budding sweat made the blazer feel itchy and the tie around his neck seemed to tighten on its own.

”Maybe, sir,” Todd mumbled.

”Sorry? You must speak louder, boy. I can’t hear you when you speak like mouse,” Nolan laughed dryly.

”Maybe, sir!” Todd repeated.

Mr Nolan scowled. He rose from the chair and walked over to Todd’s desk. He held his hand out and Todd reluctantly gave him the paper. It was an assignment, so Todd didn’t have much of a choice, but he could so easily have scribbled something vain instead. Mr Nolan chuckled as he read the poem once more. The boys in the classroom watched him tensely, probably fearing that they were up next. One after the other they’d have to endure Mr Nolan’s scrutiny. It was as if everything depended on their poems, because Mr Nolan thought no more of a person than what they could achieve in a classroom. If you poem was worthless, then so were you. _Doomsday_ , was the only word that came to Todd as he waited.

”It’s not bad,” Mr Nolan admitted at last. Even the other boys let out sighs of relief. Todd clutched his pencil, knowing that Mr Nolan wasn’t finished yet. The headmaster strolled around at the front of the classroom, humming to himself. ”It does rhyme and love is a good choice of theme… but it’s not brilliant. The verses you wrote at the beginning of my course were more… hm… let’s say _excellent_. The one you wrote just last week would have scored high.” Nolan gestured towards the graph on the blackboard. ”This, to me, sounds like something you wrote without much effort. The language is rather plain. It lacks finess. It’s very short too. Was that your intention?”

”Possibly, sir.”

” _’Possibly’_? _’Maybe’?_ I like my answers clear, boy!” Mr Nolan frowned. ”You must surely know whether or not it was your intention, Mr Anderson. Writing takes planning and meticulous practice. It doesn’t happen by chance. Was it your intention or was it laziness that got the best of you?”

Todd stared back at the teacher with his lips pursed tightly.

”Well, I understand that the nonsense Mr Keating told you is still lurking in the back of your mind. It must be hard for you to even know what your ambition is,” Mr Nolan concluded. He dropped the paper on Todd’s desk and sat down on his chair again with an exhausted sigh. ”It’ll take some time to undo the damage, I presume. Boys your age are highly impressionable, that is something I have said many times before. It’s unfortunate when someone takes advantage of it. But remember, boys!” Mr Nolan raised a finger in the air and glared at the startled students in the room, letting his eyes linger at each one of them for long enough that they started twisting nervously on their seats. ”Remember that you can always make a conscious decision to shield out such nonsense! You can decide if you will allow insensible gibberish to lead you off your path to greatness!”

”Yes, sir!” the boys replied meekly.

Mr Nolan called up the next name. Todd settled that if he’d get asked what he thought of the poem, he’d say that it was whatever Mr Nolan decided that it was. If he was asked to comment on a poem written by one of the Dead Poets, he’d say that he liked the choice of words out of loyalty, no matter what those words were. If only Knox restrained from writing poems about the beauty of a woman’s chest, Todd wouldn’t get into trouble for expressing his liking. At least he hoped so. But although he wanted to hear the other boys read their poems, Todd couldn’t bring himself to listen. All he could think about was his own. It laid before him on the desk, staring back at him.

The fact that Mr Nolan let him get away with a ’you can do better’ didn’t glad him much, despite that it was almost a compliment by the headmasters standards. He still regretted having read the poem out loud in front of everyone. It was the agonizing regret that made his skin creep and fingers curl. He wished he had tucked the paper into a small square and slipped it into his pillowcase, or maybe into the smallest department in his bag — anywhere where no one would find it. It would have been less terrifying to strip naked at the dais in the aula with the whole school watching. Todd would rather have let everyone see his body than the storm that raged inside of it.

He covered the poem with his hand, pretended that it wasn’t there. Yet, the crooked letters burned under his fingertips and palm. Writing it was the loudest thing Todd had ever done. It was a shout from his guts, but it didn’t travel through his throat and come out of his mouth. It left his body like ink on paper.

_Every night I plead for you to remember my name, to remember the night when our tears tasted the same. I hope that wherever you are your soul is eternally free, that you live your life as whoever you wish to be._

***

”He’s full of junk,” Knox said when class was over and they were gathered at lunch. ”Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.”

Pitts put his finger to his lips and cocked his head to the left. A group of teachers stood in a cluster not too far away. Knox leaned forward. Todd, Meeks and Pitts met him half-way over the table. Knox glanced towards the teachers. They weren’t paying attention.

”Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” Knox repeated, this time in a hushed tone.

The table was empty without Neil and Charlie around. They were better off without Cameron. Whenever he came around there was an uncomfortable strain in the air. Everyone agreed that Cameron was a traitor, but at the same time it was hard to blame him for trying to save himself. All of them did in the end. Mr Perry, Neil’s father, made sure that none of them would make it out without having to pay for what they did — and what they did was, according to him, ’corrupting his son’. Mr Perry was more to blame for everything than Cameron, but still. Something had changed throughout the last few weeks, since Mr Keating got fired. Who knew if it the crevice in the Society would ever heal?

Todd ate slowly. Mostly he just poked around in the mystery meat. He was drained from the class with Mr Nolan. He sat on a chair the whole time, and yet he felt like his muscles were so tired he could barely move at all. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep the day away.

”But to his defense, so was my poem,” Knox continued, ”I admit that it sucked. If I were a teacher, I’d probably kick myself out to be honest.” He seemed rather pleased about it and the boys cracked up in chuckles.

Todd tried to be happy about the fact that at least he had some friends, which was more than he ever had before. They tried to keep the spirit up. Knox insisted that there had to be a way. He still believed that they could convince Neil’s father to let Neil come back to Welton, and that if they really tried, maybe they could even get rid of Mr Nolan. If they succeeded with that, there was a fair chance that Charlie could come back to school too. They talked about it sometimes, but mostly to cheer themselves us. If anybody actually thought it was possible was doubtable.

”I liked your poem though, Todd,” Meeks said. He spoke in a casual tone, almost too casual. ”I didn’t think it was too short. Charlie needs to talk all the time to make himself understood. You don’t have to. I get it anyway.” He tilted his head slightly to the side and let his eyes linger at Todd. There was an entertained spark in them, teasing but friendly. That was the look Meeks gave you when he knew you copied his homework but wouldn’t admit it to the teacher, or when he knew you secretly listened to an embarrassing band but told everyone you listened to cool bands.

The other two boys noticed. Knox blinked in confusion a couple of times, then his face cleared up. A silent message passed around the table. An invisible bond, the magic understanding that linked the Dead Poets to one other. Knox started giggling and wiggled his brows at Todd. Pitts grinned smugly as he sipped from his glass. The Dead Poets were the only ones who even had a scant chance at understanding, so they were actually Todd’s biggest fret when reading the poem out loud in class. This reaction was almost worse than repulsion.

”Thank you, Meeks. I appreciate it,” he said. Todd’s face heated up and he yielded his eyes away.

”No probs.” Meeks winked.

And so that was out of the way. Meeks started chatting about the Latin homework that was due the same day. Knox kept repeating that everything was bullshit, until he received a glare from Dr Hager. All was back to normal as though nothing had changed. Todd sat silent and listened, but his heart seemed to have found its right rhythm for the first time in weeks and it was easier to breathe with the air cleared.

Truthfully, he suspected that the members of the Dead Poets knew long before he realized it himself. They welcomed the absurd with open arms. It was sort of the thing that strung them together in the first place. Well, the absurdity, Mr Keating and Neil. Now the only thing left was the absurdity, but Todd intended to keep it alive to their honor. Maybe that’s why he instantly agreed to join the Latin study group that evening, for the first time since Neil left. And he didn’t intend to stifle the feelings. Choosing not to share them was not the same thing as suffocating them. If nothing else came out of it, at least Mr Keating would have been proud of Todd’s muted liberation.

***

That night Todd sat at the desk and finished the poem. It wasn’t because Mr Nolan wanted him to, but because Todd was inspired. Everywhere he turned his head, inspiration afflicted him. He filled the void with whatever art he could produce, untangled the mess by adding space between each word and sentence so that one emotion wouldn’t bleed into the other too much. Some thoughts needed more space than others. Paper after paper he filled, sometimes only with a single word on the entire sheet.

_At heart I feel as though we are still near, that a part of you is still here. May the wind carry my word, across the land, across the sea, that you will always the spring’s first flower to me. Let us grow, let us age, let our love prevail over hatred’s rage. We’ll meet again one day, and I’ already know what I long to say._

He wiped his eyes as he folded it into a tiny square. He kept the piece of paper in his hand and lay down on Neil’s old bed. The sheets had been changed and the scent of Neil had slowly faded away. They tried to steal him away, tried to wash his presence out of the building. It only motivated Todd more to keep him here. He wrote Neil’s name on spots where no-one could see, hummed his favorite songs, read his favorite books. But most of all Todd wrote. That’s what Neil would have wanted him to do. And Mr Keating, of course.

When they met again, Todd could show it all to them. Some of the poems he were proud of, some of them he already knew he’d never, ever, in a million years show to anyone. He cherished the feeling of knowing that he could choose for himself which ones belonged to him only and which ones he wished for others to read. He loved writing unpolished poems, the ones Mr Nolan hated. They were raw, like someone tore it right out of his chest, like they were written directly with his blood.

Todd understood why so many poets had tried to convey the feeling into words before. Centuries of human beings had tried. The brightest and the dullest. One could write a novel, the most beautiful verses and recite them with passion. Still, nothing could quite translate the feeling. There was only one phrase, and it had been used so many times it was worn out. On paper it meant nothing. It was faded and bleak. But if Todd ever had the chance to, he’d look Neil in the eyes and he’d say it anyway.

 _I love you_.

And he was sure Neil would understand that those three words was the wonderful brevity that summarized all the verses Todd had written, and ultimately the one three words that actually mattered.


End file.
